


The Canadian Flu

by nauticalwarrior



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold, FACE Family, Family, Fluff, Gen, Sick Character, concerned family members, sick canada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7342375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalwarrior/pseuds/nauticalwarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew hasn't been feeling well lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Canadian Flu

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr!

(from Canada’s pov since that made the most sense. Also working with the fact that in canon Al and Matthew live together)

Matthew yawns, wincing at the ache in the back of his throat, and turns over in bed. He really doesn’t want to get up, but he wasn’t ad productive as he should have been yesterday, and politics are too crazy right now for him to take a day off. He has to get up and make a dent in that stack of paperwork, and he has to go to a meeting with Arthur over some trade issue later that day. And he knows perfectly well that if he doesn’t get out of bed now, it’s never happening.  
  
Matthew pulls himself out of his blankets with a sigh, already mourning their warmth. It always seems to be cold his room, but especially right now. He’ll have to turn up there heat later. Heading into he and his brother’s shared kitchen, he spots Alfred standing in front of the toaster, a cup of coffee already in his hand.  
  
“Hey Al.” Matthew notices the raspiness of his voice, but he offers his brother a smile anyways. Maybe he’s coming down with something, but he hopes not.   
  
“Morning!” Alfred gives him a big smile and takes another swing of his coffee. “Dude, do you wanna play baseball later? After coffee?”  
  
While Matthew loves his brother, that sounds like a terrible idea. His head hurts plenty already; he doesn’t need to worsen that. “Uh, no, sorry. I have to get some work done today.” Matthew takes a step around Alfred to get to the fridge, coughing lightly into his hand. His throat is more sore than itchy, but he can already tell he’ll be coughing up a storm later. He pulls open the fridge, eyeing the leftover pancakes from that weekend. But… he’s not that hungry really. He shuts the fridge door and opts for hot cocoa instead, grabbing a pot and filling it with tap water. Alfred is eyeing him with one brow raised, but Matthew ignores him as he sets the pot on the stove and turns the burner on.   
  
“Hey, Mattie?” Alfred takes a step closer to him, staring at him as Matthew dumps hot cocoa mix and maple syrup into the pot.   
  
“Yeah?” Matthew gives the cocoa a stir.   
  
“You feeling alright? You sound kinda sick.” Alfred has a small frown in his face, but Matthew just smiles a little and turns back to the cocoa.   
  
“Eh, it’s not bad. I think I’ve got a little cold, nothing to worry about.” As if to spite him, a cough worms its way up Matthew’s throat right after he speaks. He coughs into his elbow, wincing at the throb of pain in his throat.   
  
“Alright bro, if you’re sure. I’ve got an early meeting I gotta run off to, but I’ll catch you later!” Alfred shoves the last bit of his toast into his mouth, sets his coffee mug into the sink, and dashes off, stopping only to grab his briefcase from by the door. Matthew shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. If Al got up earlier, he wouldn’t have been in such a rush! Matthew sighs. Now it’s paperwork until 2, then he’ll go meet Francis and Arthur at the airport. The world meeting is in a week, but Arthur wanted to come early for trade discussion and Francis tagged along, much to the Englishman’s chagrin. Matthew smiles at the thought of his family, and heads towards his office. 

* * *

 

Matthew yawns as he pulls in the airport pickup area. His headache and sore throat from earlier had progressively worsened, and now, as he searches the crowd, his head throbs viciously, his throat burns like fire, and his nose is completely stuffed up. He hadn’t had a fever when he left the house, but he’s not so sure now that he’s shivering despite the summer heat. Illness aside, he still smiles when he catches sight of two blonde heads and a pair of large eyebrows. He waves to them,and luckily Francis sees him right away, pointing towards Matthew’s car and gesturing towards it, saying something Matthew can’t hear. He opens the door and steps out of the car, grimacing at the slight dizziness that seems to be accompanying his headache. Hoping they won’t be _too_ loud, Matthew watches as they approach his car.  
  
“Matthieu! Mon fils, how have you been?” Of course, Francis moves to hug Matthew, who accepts readily, if a bit weakly. When he gets home, he needs to check his temperature again. It can’t be good, not if he feels like this.  
  
“I’ve been good, papa. How have you two been?” Matthew’s voice is hoarse, but not horribly so. Hopefully they won’t notice.  
  
Arthur’s brows draw together. “Matthew, are you feeling alright? You sound like you’ve got a frog in your throat.” The Englishman raises a hand and presses it lightly to Matthew’s forehead before he even has a chance to answer. “Bloody hell, you’re burning up! You drove with a fever like this?!”  
  
Matthew smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t have a fever when I left the house!” He looks to his papa, who’s frowning. Francis copies Arthur, feeling Matthew’s cheek instead of his forehead. He hums and then crosses his arms in front of his chest.   
  
“You should be in bed, not driving us around.” He glances towards Arthur for a second before looking back to his son. “How long have you been ill?”  
  
Matthew thinks for a moment. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little run down for the past month or so, but I haven’t felt sick for that long. I’ve had a headache since the day before yesterday, but I was mostly fine until this morning. I think I’m-” Matthew breaks off, a cough bubbling out of his chest. It’s more violent then it had been earlier, and before he knows it he’s slightly hunched over, a warm hand rubbing his back. Thankfully, the coughing fit subsides quickly, and he swallows painfully before straightening up.  
  
“I’m not letting you drive. Get in the car, you too frog.” Arthur pauses for a second. “Have you taken any medicine? Been drinking enough water?” He opens the car door and hops in, glancing at Matthew as he does so.  
  
“I’ve been staying hydrated, but I didn’t take any meds yet.” Matthew walks around to the passenger side, opening the door and climbing in. His head throbs with the motion, so he shuts the door and leans against the cool glass of the window. 

Arthur sighs as Francis climbs into the back seat. “When we get back to your house, you’re taking something.” Matthew nods sleepily and lets his eyes slip shut, barely noticing as the car starts to move.

* * *

 

The world slowly comes into focus for Matthew, a blur of sound and movement that doesn’t make any sense. When did he fall asleep? He shifts in whatever warm (but not very comfortable. Kind of awkward?) thing he’s on, only to feel it tighten around him. He opens his eyes, surprised to see nothing but a blur of light and color. 

“Hey, Mattie’s waking up!” The voice of his brother is loud, and Matthew realizes that he’s being carried. He groans and shuts his eyes again.

“Al, where are my glasses?” His throat burns when he talks, and he swallows painfully to avoid coughing. 

“Ah, sorry lad, I’ve got them. We couldn’t get you to wake up in the car, so Alfred offered to carry you to your bed.” Arthur sounds calm, but Matthew can tell from the subtle catching in his voice that he’s really very worried. He’s about to ask another question, but his thoughts are interrupted by Alfred setting him down gently on his bed. Matthew squirms for a moment, trying to get under the comforter, but once he’s settled he sighs in relief. He’s still so tired, and his bed is nice and warm. 

“Angleterre, I got the thermometer like you asked- Oh, Matthieu! You’re awake!” Matthew smiles at the sound of Francis’s voice. “How are you feeling?” Francis sounds concerned, and Matthew can hear him move closer before a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Francis’s face is blurry, but just barely distinguishable, and Matthew looks at what he thinks is his eyes. 

He has to think for a second before answering. “Uh, a little worse actually.” Matthew grimaces a little. His head is still aching, and his throat burns, but his whole body aches now too, and he feels foggy and weak. 

Francis makes a displeased sound. “I think we should check your temperature, non? Open your mouth, please.” Matthew complies with the request, feeling the cold metal of the thermometer slide into his mouth. He waits patiently, the entire room silent until the device beeps. 

Francis pulls it out of Matthew’s mouth and reads it. “103? What is that in celsius? It’s high, isn’t it?” He sounds alarmed, and Matthew elects not to convert it, instead hoping that Alfred will have the common sense to reassure Francis. 

“It’s pretty high, uh, lemme look it up…” Darn it. Alfred pauses, likely to search on his phone (and Matthew really should ask for his glasses back soon). “It’s 39.4..” Matthew sighs, and he hears a gasp from Francis and probably Arthur too. 

“Isn’t that really dangerous? Should we take ‘im to the ‘ospital?” Francis is frantic, and Matthew would find his accent amusing if his head didn’t hurt so badly. 

Arthur speaks next. “And what good would that do? He’s a bloody nation, they aren’t going to have any idea what to do!” Matthew sighs. This is going to become a full blown fight, isn’t it?

“His body is mostly human! Do you want ‘im to get worse because you were reluctant?” Matthew sees Francis’s face go out of focus as the Frenchman moves towards Arthur. 

“Guys-”

“I don’t want him to be sick any more than you do, frog!” Arthur stomps the ground audibly, and Matthew groans. This isn’t what he wants, not when he’s sick and without his glasses and tired as all hell.

“Artie, Francis, for fucks sake, calm down.” Alfred sounds as annoyed as Matthew feels. “He’s not dying; he’s probably just got the flu.” There’s an awkward silence before Matthew feels his glasses slide on his face. He blinks, his eyes darting around the room before realizing that his brother had put them on his face. Despite his reassurances, Alfred looks plenty worried, although not nearly as much as Francis, who’s got tears in his eyes and his arms wrapped around himself. Matthew sighs. 

“Guys, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Al is right; it’s probably just the flu.” He watches as Arthur nods, and Francis wipes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. Matthew tries to offer a reassuring smile, but a cough boils in his throat and he ends up painfully hacking. It burns worse than before, and he feels Alfred patting him on the back. 

“Artie, run and get some nyquil for him.” Alfred sounds worried, and Matthew wants to reassure him but instead he takes a breath and tries to avoid coughing again. Being sick _sucks._ He watches Arthur nod and run out of the room, presumably towards his bathroom to get the medicine. After his coughing fit, Matthew’s head is throbbing worse and he just wants it to go away. Maybe if he cut his head off. That’s a realistic solution.

“You doing okay bro?” Alfred has stopped patting Matthew’s back, and Matthew looks up at him and nods. 

“This sucks.” His voice is hoarser, and he tries to ignore his papa trying to compose himself in the background. Francis never had been good at dealing with his loved ones being in danger even a little.

Alfred snorts. “Yeah, I bet.You’ll get better pretty fast though I bet.” He sounds fairly sure, and he moves away from Matthew, stretching. “I, on the other hand, am so cool that I _never_ get sick, no matter-”

“Yeah right, you were crying over the phone just last month because you had a stomach bug and you didn’t want to be alone.” Arthur stands in the doorway, a scowl on his face and a bottle of green liquid in his hand. “I got the medicine.”

“I was not! And thanks, lemme get that.” Alfred hops over to Arthur and grabs the bottle out of his hands, stopping to ruffle Francis’s hair on the way over. Francis makes an offended noise, and when Alfred starts to walk back towards Matthew’s bed, Francis ruffles his hair in turn. Alfred just chuckles. 

The American pours out the medicine, squinting and sticking his tongue out a little as he measures it. “Here you go. This stuff’s the best.” He hold it out, and Matthew takes it gratefully, taking the medicine in one shot. He coughs a little at the taste, but hands the cup back to Alfred empty. 

Matthew yawns and smiles at his family despite the ache behind his eyes. “Alright, well I should probably get some sleep. There’s nothing better for the flu than sleep.” Matthew sees Arthur nod and Alfred smile faintly, but Francis still looks worried.

He speaks before Matthew can. “Mon petit, do you want us to stay in here with you?” He doesn’t sound overly worried, and Matthew realizes that yeah, he _does_ kind of want someone to be in his room with him. 

“If you want papa, that’s be great.” Matthew smiles at Francis, and this time he smiles back. The Frenchman looks around for a moment before grabbing Matthew’s desk chair and pulling it closer to the bed. 

“I’ll wait then. You get some sleep.” Francis sounds much less scared than he had earlier, and Matthew is glad. He glances around at his family once more and smiles. He’s glad they’re all here for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed! Please leave kudos/comments!


End file.
